


Bookstore Meetcute

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Mission Fics [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: But then he hears structure - like a recitation of poetry - the rhythm registers first, one two three four, and then he picks up words that all sounds like the same few words, although he’s guessing he’s not hearing them correctly.“A nada hey a nada hey a nada,” something something “hey,” and, curious, he drains the last of his coffee and sets the cup back down on the counter as he passes, with a nod of thanks that the barista lady returns.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Mission Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599379
Comments: 22
Kudos: 335





	Bookstore Meetcute

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for Your-Ginger-Angel, see end notes for more info**

The first thing he thinks when he spots the bookstore is _thank God._ He’s not trying to be odd about it but half of his behaviors get strange looks from passing colleagues and the people who try to help by pointing it out are just making it worse. He knows he’s old fashioned. He’s got a damned good reason for it, which everybody knows, but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter as much to them as his fitting in.

So there’s the bookstore, simple sign outside like the pubs used to have back in London, shelves in the window, a step, a door with a bell. It’s a haven - he knows it will be the moment he pushes against the brass handle and hears the chime. Glue and paper and leather and dust, damp carpet and old wood - he takes a lungful and shuts his eyes a moment. It’s not home. He tries hard not to think about how far from home he really is, but it’s _familiar,_ and that’s enough to get him through the day.

The place is quiet though it’s not library-silent, and big labels mark sections - the store goes way further on in back than he thought, and he can smell coffee too, sugar. He frowns at it, takes a few steps forward and cranes his neck. There’s a section to drink in, a woman behind the counter there. People sit in big comfy chairs with books and he wonders if you buy them before you read or whether you can just come in and sit.

There’s a few students. A young girl and her…well, Steve assumes it’s her moms. Apparently in this day and age you never know, and people keep saying ‘lesbians’ like they think they invented the concept. He toured with the USO girls for God’s sake. Not many people, but they all look happy. Or, at least, they don’t look _un_ happy.

He finds the _Art, Architecture & Photography_ section immediately because he knows to look for it. There were books in the library, sure, and he grew up with dog-eared pulps and cracked-spined tomes. One or two still sit there, on the Brooklyn Library’s shelves, that he saw all those years ago. But, though he’s not much for material possessions, he’s been using the Internet and learning some new things in his own time, and some of the books that the library had, or recommended, were ones he wants to hold in his hands to see whether he wants to keep them on his shelves. A good book is like an old friend - you can revisit any time and it’s like you never left, and nothing beats the weight of one to cradle close and explore. 

He already has Leonardo’s Notebooks, and he considered a volume of space photography, too, but he settled for one from the ISS instead. The far reaches of nebulae reminded him too much of nightmares he didn’t fully remember, holes opened in the sky, and burning blue fire. The ISS just showed him the earth and upper atmosphere in its glory - it was easier to handle. 

Today’s a difficult day on his senses, the lights a little bright, the smells a little strong. He’s chosen a book about the truth of the history behind the buildings in the nation’s capital, built by slaves, because of course they were. It’s a history that’s apparently _still_ not taught in schools. And he buys a flat white coffee so as not to overwhelm his senses while he’s trying to read. The lady behind the coffee counter assured him he could read and drink if he was careful, and he’s perhaps ten pages in when he decides he’ll definitely buy it.

He keeps reading anyway, and it’s maybe around chapter three that he hears something. At first, he thinks it’s one of the students he’s seen, reciting a list or reading the stacks in search of something - he’s having to block out a whole host of sounds today just for the world to make sense. But then he hears structure - like a recitation of poetry - the rhythm registers first, one two three _four,_ and then he picks up words that all sounds like the same few words, although he’s guessing he’s not hearing them correctly.

 _“A nada hey a nada hey a nada,”_ something something _“hey,”_ and, curious, he drains the last of his coffee and sets the cup back down on the counter as he passes, with a nod of thanks that the barista lady returns.

He follows the sound, a voice, until he rounds a corner, and he finds a young man with wires in his ears, who’s passing the fingers of one hand along the bookcase. His other arm is missing, Steve sees it immediately and then a flurry of thoughts confuse him, starting with ‘Did he lose it in Europe?’ and ending with ‘Is it ableist of me that I noticed?’ He’s not got the hang of everything yet, but he knows his manners enough to know not to mention it.

The man’s dark hair is longish - past regulation anyway - and he sways his body as he speaks barely audibly. It’s still enough for Steve to hear it.

_“We’re trashing hotels like it’s going out of style, getting paid along the way ‘cause it’s worth your while.”_

He spots Steve a moment later, turns his head, and then,

“Oh,” he says, and then he steps back from the shelf to make room for Steve, reaching up to pull out one headphone. Steve can hear the tinny hiss of music coming from it. “Sorry.”

“Nono,” Steve answers, shaking his head. “I didn’t want the shelf, I just...” He smiles. This is awkward, he always is. He gestures to his ear. “Sorry, I uh. Heard the words and…”

“Oh, you like the Beastie Boys?” the guy says, blue eyes sparkling, a curious smile turning one corner of his mouth.

“Uh, that was my question actually.”

The guy nods, understanding dawning on his face. 

“Ah,” he says. “Cool. Yeah, Beastie Boys, No Sleep Till Brooklyn.”

Steve nods too.

“Ah,” he says - even more awkward. “Thanks.”

The guy nods.

“And hey, if you like that,” and he points to Steve’s book before he searches for something else. “Try…” he runs his fingers over the books again and then, “ah, this!”

He beams as he pulls out and then hands over the book - the cover is a photograph of three black women under an archway, over whom the words _‘HIDDEN FIGURES’_ are written. Steve looks at it, and then back at the guy. The guy’s jamming his headphone back in and, with a smile, he gives a nod and goes back to what he was doing. 

Steve looks between him and the book once or twice, and then figures it can’t hurt to try. Why not, right?

He sits back down with the book, orders another coffee. He looks up _‘song words Beasty Boys No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn‘_ and gets _‘Did you mean: song words Beastie Boys No Sleep Till Brooklyn’_ and a big box that shows him the words, so he can see what he really heard when he scrolls down to take a look.

_‘Another plane Another train Another bottle in the brain.’_

He nods slowly, wonders if this bookstore - like so many others - sell trinkets like keychains, like bookmarks. Like headphones.

He buys the book - mostly because he wants it, and hardly at all because the good-looking guy suggested it.

***

Bucky’s looking for that book about Arlington that he saw last week. He’s interested, that’s for sure - history majors tend to get excited about that kind of thing. He’s no fool, he knows the big, buff blond who’s been browsing the place. He’d know that face anywhere, even without his Master’s - but this is New York. You don’t make a fuss about anyone in New York, not when the only privacy you can give a man in a place so jam-packed is to ignore him. Still, he looked pleased with Bucky’ choice for him, and Bucky has seen him around since then.

He’s a big guy, though Bucky knows how he looked before, and that’s probably why he doesn’t see him as often as he’d expect. Captain America hunches his shoulders and keeps his eyes down a lot, how about that? Shell Shock mightn’t be called Shell Shock any more but part of his studies taught him the symptoms.

The store’s almost empty the next time he sees Steve Rogers. He knew he was here - he saw Rogers with a cappuccino earlier - but Bucky’s been listening to the Black Crowes for the last half hour and it startles him out of his reverie to see Rogers in his aisle.

 _“Your sister always singing, she play the step child,”_ he mutters, _“a broken little memory, her heart was never kind-”_

But there he is, hunched in, head down, book tucked under his arm. He’s scribbling away in a notebook that’s too small for his big hands, and there’s a big dark line between his brows. Bucky becomes aware that he’s probably been at least saying the words to his music, if not outright singing them. Not loud obviously, this is a bookstore not a concert hall. Or his shower. But it stops him in his tracks.

When Rogers looks up, he double-takes and then smiles awkwardly, caught-out. Then he fumbles, notebook in one hand and bookstore book in the other, and shows Bucky - ha, no way. The book about Arlington. Bucky gives him a thumbs-up and Rogers beams-

Wow. Okay, _that’s_ what he looks like when he smiles. Bucky finds himself blinking at him in the wake of that intensity, but Rogers seems pleased with the thumbs-up and goes on his way. Bucky’s kind of pleased even though it’s highly possible Rogers got the last copy in the store. 

But Bucky’s okay to wait for the next delivery after a smile like that. 

Man.

_Wow._

***

The next time Steve’s at the bookstore, maybe the fourth or fifth time he’s visited, it’s raining outside. He’s shielded his head with a newspaper that he drops into the recycling as soon as he makes it inside, and he finds a few of the books he was thinking about last time to take them to the café. He’s definitely not here because he keeps seeing that guy. 

He orders a mocha and settles down to read about Picasso, but changes his mind within a few pages. He doesn’t like the one about Chateau Marmont either, but the ones about architectural drawings are interesting, and he flips through and thinks about picking up sketching again, maybe trying to draw the tower or the Brooklyn bridge. 

He’s putting Picasso back (Chateau Marmont barely got a look-in if he’s perfectly honest) when he hears someone saying nonsense phrases, unless his ability to figure out which language he’s hearing has disappeared entirely, some more words he doesn’t quite catch. But then there’s French, definitely - _‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’_ He recognizes the voice this time - it’s the same guy as before - and he turns his head to see that he’s coming around the corner. 

Just like before, the guy moves in time with what he’s half-saying, and Steve can see his lips moving even though he’s stopped speaking out loud. He’d been reading lips for years before the serum and his memory’s almost photographic now, but he still only catches half as the guy looks up at the shelves.

 _‘Café au lait,’_ he sees, _‘made the savage beast inside roar until it cried, more, more, more.’_

He feels his face heat a little. It probably doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. It’s probably perfectly innocent. The guy can’t be learning French because there’s not a chance that would be required learning, even though Steve knows you can learn new languages through the Internet and through phones-

Phones! He has one, a smartphone. Natasha tells him he can look things up on it, and so he does - he pulls it from his pocket and types, _‘which song has the words’_ and then proceeds to type out the ones he’s seen. The first result reads _‘Labelle,’_ and then repeats the words he’s just typed, but he scrolls down to find _Moulin Rouge,_ and _Lady Marmalade,_ and _‘What does Gitchi Gitchi Ya Ya mean?’_

The young man says, 

_“Memories creep,”_ very softly, which draws Steve’s attention, and Steve finds the guy looking at him, one eyebrow raised and a smile on his lips, as he pulls a book from the shelf.

Then he turns and goes on his way.

Steve watches his back as he leaves and then reads the words on the screen of his smartphone.

Oh. 

Oh no, it _definitely_ meant what he thought it meant.

***

Eventually, Steve makes a decision. 

It’s easy enough to make, considering there’ve been three or four books that the guy’s recommended to him now. He makes the decision on an afternoon, when the sun’s low and the bookstore’s warm. The coffee and the paper and the carpet are like a friend to him now, smells that wrap him up in familiarity. He’s been coming here for a few months in his downtime because he likes the place.

And he likes the people.

***

Bucky’s seen Rogers a few times. They’ve exchanged glances, knowing looks when they’re in the same area of the store for books. Once, Rogers even asked how long he’d worked here. Bucky doesn’t work here. 

But the thing is, Bucky thinks maybe he could buy Rogers a coffee. He thinks, maybe they could sit down together in the café and talk about the kind of history Rogers missed instead of the kind of history he’s probably always being asked to recite. He thinks, maybe he could give Rogers his number and play Rogers his music and, at the very least, be a friend if he can’t convince Rogers of anything more.

But Bucky Barnes is awkward as fuck, is the thing. He’s got the worst luck, he’s shit at stuff like this - he’s listening to his 90s playlist, and he’s just gone past Britney and Christina when he hits the Divinyls. 

Which means he’s tapping his foot as he browses, and swaying his hips as he pulls a few things down. And which means, of course, he’s singing under his breath,

_“A fool could see just how much I adore you. I'd get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you. I don't want anybody else. When I think about you, I touch myse-”_

when a small piece of paper enters his vision from the left hand side, looping cursive written across it.

 _I guess now I know who the Divinyls are,_ it says, _as well as the Beastie Boys and Patti LaBelle. I enjoyed your book recommendations - how about I buy you a coffee and we can talk about your taste in music?_ And then there, written like a miracle below the type of cursive they haven’t taught in schools since the twenties, is a string of numbers.

Bucky feels his mouth drop open as his face heats up - wow, okay, this whole time Steve Rogers has been-

That must have been what he was scribbling each time Bucky saw him. And what he was typing on his phone, oh wow. Okay. So he’s been looking up Bucky’s songs, that’s fine. Which means Bucky must have been singing more than he thought out loud, Jeez.

Bucky takes the paper because he realizes it’s been way too long, and covers his mouth with his hand once he’s put the paper in his pocket. Then he tugs his headphones out of his ears.

“Right,” he says. “Guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought, huh?”

“Eh, I have super hearing,” Steve Rogers answers, and Bucky loves his voice, he really does. 

If he could get a playlist of that instead, he’d take it, no hesitation. But he looks up, and there’s Steve Rogers, smiling at him, bashful but hopeful, eyes sparkling. Bucky’s keeping him waiting really.

“Uh,” he says, and then, “so. Uh, what…what do you drink?”

Steve Rogers smiles, shakes his head.

“Come on,” he says, and he takes Bucky’s book from him and tucks it under his arm before he points toward the café. “My treat.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in getting me to write something for you, head on over to [my tumblr!](https://justanotherstonyfan.tumblr.com)


End file.
